Previews have a way of setting up expectations of what is to come, both in the theater and on tapes and dvds. Such has been the case with this next film. The horrific nature of the majority of previews caused me to postpone the actual viewing of the main feature for much of this week. Violence I can handle; horror not so much. So those previews gave me a funny feeling...
Premonition
Sandra Bullock made a decision not to be the next Julia Roberts, an accusation leveled against her in her early days when Roberts took a brief leave of absence from the limelight, (as she is once again doing now). Bullock's perkiness and willingness to please are, of course, the primary reasons she was so dubbed, along with the vacuum created when Roberts went into seclusion after her abortive engagement to Kiefer Sutherland. (Yes, I know way too much trash trivia for my sanity.) Once Bullock had achieved sufficient acclaim on her own merits, she began to work primarily on less upbeat projects that allowed her to give that million watt smile of hers a well-earned rest. Unfortunately, when she's not smiling, she does glum really really well, even when she's just going for serious. Ah well... She is getting more balanced as she matures...
Bullock is four years older than her co-star, Julian McMahon, son of a former Australian prime minister, and there are shots where she looks it. (As I said earlier, she does glum really well.) That said, the narrative itself is an interesting, if not particularly thought-provoking, piece. It takes its time leisurely unwinding, allowing the viewer to share in Bullock's character's confusion and increasingly conflicted feelings. When the story is finally laid out in its entirety, there is more a sense of relief that the film is over than rejoicing that the mysteries are solved. Hm... that doesn't seem like a good thing, does it? Oh well...
Bullock marries McMahon who buys her a house. Years later we learn that they are a suburban couple with a house, a mortgage, and two kids - what'd we expect? Hm... The setup for his infidelity is not great, while its revelation is fairly standard issue: mistress behind a tree at the outskirts of the burial. Do we still have expectations? The makeup sex is so tastefully suggested that the endshot pregnancy is almost a surprise. almost.
The surprise is a one-stringed affair, an explanation of premonition as presented by a Roman Catholic priest. What else did I expect? ah well...
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Yet Another Review
It's been a very peaceful, mellow, blogging and vidding day with nothing but intermittent thunder showers to penetrate my reveries. This next dvd is one that I had eagerly awaited but failed to catch in theaters. Well, that is now rectified.
Fracture
Sir Anthony Hopkins, that knighted British talent whose American roles have been so very gruesome, seems to have hooked up with some of the brightest young talents America has to offer. He first came to my notice in the horror genre when he worked with Jodie Foster in her early adulthood. Since then he has worked with Julianne Moore, Edward Norton, and now Ryan Gosling in a similar role.
Fracture is a film that features Ryan Gosling in a role reminiscent of Keanu Reeves' turn in Devil's Advocate in that Gosling is a rising star in the prosecutor's office with a high conviction rate who is plucked from relative obscurity by the head of a highly successful private firm that specializes in the defense of wealthy clients of dubious morality. This film, however, focuses on the relationship between the ADA and the accused, rather than between the young lawyer and a high-powered head of any firm. As with Edward Norton, Hopkin's character takes pleasure in playing mind games, always seeming to be several steps ahead of his youthful adversary until said youngster bottoms out, has an epiphany, and is finally able to turn the tables on the old master. It's very much in keeping with the standard narrative skeleton on which so many martial arts films have been hung over the years. As with martial arts films, the pleasure comes not from the narrative, but from the characterizations, the stratagems employed, and a few really great unexpected moves. As morality tales go, it's pretty conventional. For viewing pleasure, Hopkins is his usual chilling self, and Gosling is great.
The dvd is also a pleasant surprise. It is enhanced for viewing on a computer, complete with website connections and supplementary materials. The alternate and deleted scenes make this viewer grateful for the eventual editorial choices made, as is usually the case. It's frightening to watch how easily the film could have taken some very bad turns.
Fracture
Sir Anthony Hopkins, that knighted British talent whose American roles have been so very gruesome, seems to have hooked up with some of the brightest young talents America has to offer. He first came to my notice in the horror genre when he worked with Jodie Foster in her early adulthood. Since then he has worked with Julianne Moore, Edward Norton, and now Ryan Gosling in a similar role.
Fracture is a film that features Ryan Gosling in a role reminiscent of Keanu Reeves' turn in Devil's Advocate in that Gosling is a rising star in the prosecutor's office with a high conviction rate who is plucked from relative obscurity by the head of a highly successful private firm that specializes in the defense of wealthy clients of dubious morality. This film, however, focuses on the relationship between the ADA and the accused, rather than between the young lawyer and a high-powered head of any firm. As with Edward Norton, Hopkin's character takes pleasure in playing mind games, always seeming to be several steps ahead of his youthful adversary until said youngster bottoms out, has an epiphany, and is finally able to turn the tables on the old master. It's very much in keeping with the standard narrative skeleton on which so many martial arts films have been hung over the years. As with martial arts films, the pleasure comes not from the narrative, but from the characterizations, the stratagems employed, and a few really great unexpected moves. As morality tales go, it's pretty conventional. For viewing pleasure, Hopkins is his usual chilling self, and Gosling is great.
The dvd is also a pleasant surprise. It is enhanced for viewing on a computer, complete with website connections and supplementary materials. The alternate and deleted scenes make this viewer grateful for the eventual editorial choices made, as is usually the case. It's frightening to watch how easily the film could have taken some very bad turns.
Monday, September 24, 2007
More Vidding
From longtime favorite to more contemporary fare, Netflix continues to satisfy.
300
One of my favorite all-time tales is that of the 300 Spartans and their amazing achievement against seemingly impossible odds. I particularly like the fact that as much of their success can be credited to brains as to brawn and heart. Of course, it didn't hurt that the narrative served as the basis for one of my favorite sword-and-sandal films, originally released in 1962.
Recently Frank Miller produced a graphic novel recreating the drama and glory of that epic struggle at Thermopylae for another generation. As it did during the Vietnam era, the tale that inspired the comic and now the film extols a defiant gloss in the idea of sacrifice for glory, even as it illustrates the seemingly senseless waste of valiant souls while corrupt politicians attempt to reap profit from war.
This film version of that pivotal conflict struck me more as a preview of a potentially exciting video game, with wave after wave of opposing forces culminating in a gargantuan monstrosity each time, than as a smoothly flowing narrative. Still, it does promise to be an exciting game, with some Brad Pitt as Achilles-type moves in the bargain.
What I particularly dislike is that King Leonidas's wife is presented as lacking her husband's evident moral fiber, at least by conservative American standards. Though we are told that the men of Sparta have been taught to lie, cheat, and steal in pursuit of ultimate victory, somehow the queen's willingness to surrender herself to the politician who so openly opposes her husband strikes a false chord for me. The fact that she takes his life and reveals his treachery on the Council floor does not diminish the fact that she seems to have been willing to surrender without protest, had he kept his word. Though Leonidas is later seen to kneel before Xerxes before attempting to assassinate the invading king, the fact that Leonidas had always planned to attempt an assassination makes his kneeling more acceptable than Queen Gorgo's initial surrender, since her murder of her attacker seems reactionary rather than premeditated.
Similarly disturbing to me is the depiction of the invading forces as all ethnic minorities and deformed or mutant beings, though perhaps that former casting is more rather than less accurate. Still, it smacks of the sort of racism so evident in Tolkien's work, as so much of epic and empire too frequently do.
The fact that the accompanying 700 slaves and servants are minimized adds to the heroism of those who sacrificed themselves, even though it takes the film further away from historical accuracy.
Less disturbing to me is the sometimes evident use of computer graphics in the film. Personally, I like seeing all those rippling abdominal muscles.
300
One of my favorite all-time tales is that of the 300 Spartans and their amazing achievement against seemingly impossible odds. I particularly like the fact that as much of their success can be credited to brains as to brawn and heart. Of course, it didn't hurt that the narrative served as the basis for one of my favorite sword-and-sandal films, originally released in 1962.
Recently Frank Miller produced a graphic novel recreating the drama and glory of that epic struggle at Thermopylae for another generation. As it did during the Vietnam era, the tale that inspired the comic and now the film extols a defiant gloss in the idea of sacrifice for glory, even as it illustrates the seemingly senseless waste of valiant souls while corrupt politicians attempt to reap profit from war.
This film version of that pivotal conflict struck me more as a preview of a potentially exciting video game, with wave after wave of opposing forces culminating in a gargantuan monstrosity each time, than as a smoothly flowing narrative. Still, it does promise to be an exciting game, with some Brad Pitt as Achilles-type moves in the bargain.
What I particularly dislike is that King Leonidas's wife is presented as lacking her husband's evident moral fiber, at least by conservative American standards. Though we are told that the men of Sparta have been taught to lie, cheat, and steal in pursuit of ultimate victory, somehow the queen's willingness to surrender herself to the politician who so openly opposes her husband strikes a false chord for me. The fact that she takes his life and reveals his treachery on the Council floor does not diminish the fact that she seems to have been willing to surrender without protest, had he kept his word. Though Leonidas is later seen to kneel before Xerxes before attempting to assassinate the invading king, the fact that Leonidas had always planned to attempt an assassination makes his kneeling more acceptable than Queen Gorgo's initial surrender, since her murder of her attacker seems reactionary rather than premeditated.
Similarly disturbing to me is the depiction of the invading forces as all ethnic minorities and deformed or mutant beings, though perhaps that former casting is more rather than less accurate. Still, it smacks of the sort of racism so evident in Tolkien's work, as so much of epic and empire too frequently do.
The fact that the accompanying 700 slaves and servants are minimized adds to the heroism of those who sacrificed themselves, even though it takes the film further away from historical accuracy.
Less disturbing to me is the sometimes evident use of computer graphics in the film. Personally, I like seeing all those rippling abdominal muscles.
Random Video Reviews
Trying this again, having lost it all late last night...
Babette's Feast (This has got to be one of my favorite foreign films. )
On a lonely windswept coast of Jutland live two spinster sisters, daughters of a deceased minister who have dedicated their lives to tending to their father's dwindling congregation, many of whom have already joined their spiritual shepherd in the hereafter. The young men who were attracted to the parish by the beauty of the daughters have grown up and moved on for the most part, taking the young women with whom they eventually paired off with them. Those left behind are aging, quarrelsome, and cantankerous.
When the daughters were younger, each had attracted the attention of a stranger who had passed through the small rural town while briefly retreating from the more hectic pace of urban life. One of these strangers sends to this quiet coastal town a friend in flight from the violence of civil disorder in Paris. This woman is taken in by the sisters and provided room and board in exchange for shelter. She proves to be modest, thrifty, shrewd, hardworking, and an excellent cook.
Years later, the second stranger returns himself, intending to verify that he made the right choice in his youth. Though he has risen to the rank of general and married a handmaiden of his country's queen, he still questions his youthful decision to forego pursuit of one of the sisters in exchange for pursuit of worldly ambition.
The young man who was once a silent suitor has become a pompous and loquacious general, but it is precisely because of this that the congregation members, the sisters, and the audience are able to learn of and appreciate the first suitor's gift of the modest woman who appeared so humbly as a refugee many long years ago and is now an integral part of the household and community.
The woman who now so quietly and efficiently runs the household was once one of the premiere chefs in all of Paris, an artist capable of turning any meal into a spiritual lovefest. When she wins the lottery in Paris, she takes the opportunity to practice her craft one last time by preparing a true French feast in celebration of the late minister's 100th birthday. The sheltered villagers fear the upcoming feast as they watch the arrival of the mysterious ingredients, which allows the audience to appreciate more fully the challenge before Babette, the chef. The contrast between expectations and actuality is wonderfully portrayed. From the fearful warnings and pleadings of the sisters to the quarreling the villagers cannot resist even as they approach the special meal, we see the allegorical human condition. As Babette toils and sweats in the stifling and primitive kitchen, we see the change come over those dining on unknown delights. There is a possible parallel with Jesus in the grave on Saturday, toiling to prepare spiritual delights for ungrateful mortals. This is the last feast Babette will prepare in this lifetime, reminiscent of Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples before his descent into death with no hope of respite until after his resurrection.
The general's narrative proclaims the greatness of Babette's achievements to an unresponsive audience that nevertheless is quietly yet surely altered for the better because of the fine meal laid before them. In the end, there is peace, reconciliation, unity, and singing under a starry sky.
Personally, I liked watching all the food preparations. :-)
Babette's Feast (This has got to be one of my favorite foreign films. )
On a lonely windswept coast of Jutland live two spinster sisters, daughters of a deceased minister who have dedicated their lives to tending to their father's dwindling congregation, many of whom have already joined their spiritual shepherd in the hereafter. The young men who were attracted to the parish by the beauty of the daughters have grown up and moved on for the most part, taking the young women with whom they eventually paired off with them. Those left behind are aging, quarrelsome, and cantankerous.
When the daughters were younger, each had attracted the attention of a stranger who had passed through the small rural town while briefly retreating from the more hectic pace of urban life. One of these strangers sends to this quiet coastal town a friend in flight from the violence of civil disorder in Paris. This woman is taken in by the sisters and provided room and board in exchange for shelter. She proves to be modest, thrifty, shrewd, hardworking, and an excellent cook.
Years later, the second stranger returns himself, intending to verify that he made the right choice in his youth. Though he has risen to the rank of general and married a handmaiden of his country's queen, he still questions his youthful decision to forego pursuit of one of the sisters in exchange for pursuit of worldly ambition.
The young man who was once a silent suitor has become a pompous and loquacious general, but it is precisely because of this that the congregation members, the sisters, and the audience are able to learn of and appreciate the first suitor's gift of the modest woman who appeared so humbly as a refugee many long years ago and is now an integral part of the household and community.
The woman who now so quietly and efficiently runs the household was once one of the premiere chefs in all of Paris, an artist capable of turning any meal into a spiritual lovefest. When she wins the lottery in Paris, she takes the opportunity to practice her craft one last time by preparing a true French feast in celebration of the late minister's 100th birthday. The sheltered villagers fear the upcoming feast as they watch the arrival of the mysterious ingredients, which allows the audience to appreciate more fully the challenge before Babette, the chef. The contrast between expectations and actuality is wonderfully portrayed. From the fearful warnings and pleadings of the sisters to the quarreling the villagers cannot resist even as they approach the special meal, we see the allegorical human condition. As Babette toils and sweats in the stifling and primitive kitchen, we see the change come over those dining on unknown delights. There is a possible parallel with Jesus in the grave on Saturday, toiling to prepare spiritual delights for ungrateful mortals. This is the last feast Babette will prepare in this lifetime, reminiscent of Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples before his descent into death with no hope of respite until after his resurrection.
The general's narrative proclaims the greatness of Babette's achievements to an unresponsive audience that nevertheless is quietly yet surely altered for the better because of the fine meal laid before them. In the end, there is peace, reconciliation, unity, and singing under a starry sky.
Personally, I liked watching all the food preparations. :-)
Saturday, September 22, 2007
New Toy! er... Tool...
Behold!
If you click on the title of this post, you will be taken to a picture of the latest member of my little family. if you hold your mouse over the far right selection, "Desert Sand Mica with Taupe Interior," you will see Sandy Sienna in all her glory. Yes, I do like to name my vehicles, though this is the first one to receive a female name.
Yesterday was delivery day when I was finally able to pick up my new baby. She has running boards on each side to assist my aged father as he attempts to step into the vehicle. After all, if it were not for him, I do not think that I would have chosen such a car. Certainly no one who knows me would have guessed that I would select such a vehicle, including me. Ah well... It holds both wheelchair and walker easily while still leaving ample room for other things, which is the primary point, after all. Better yet, there is a functional radio that I can set low enough so that Dad cannot hear it, though I can. Best of all, there is an mp3 player plug for my ipod. :-)
When I popped open my cell phone to share my delight in my new acquisition, I was laughingly reminded that I delight in big ticket items, parsimonious though I may sometimes seem in smaller things. Well, with my fading eyesight, if I can't see it, what's the point? Of course, I suppose I could settle for less digits and decimal places... Hm...
Of course, now that that is settled and the old cars are moving on to other homes and incarnations, I have nowhere to drive my beautiful new toy until Dad's next doctors' appointments. See, that's why I was able to demonstrate restraint and not sign up for the optional moon roof or dvd player. After all, as a driver on Honolulu roads, when am I going to be on the road long enough to watch anything? And if I'm the sole driver, what would I be doing watching anyway? It's not like an audio input after all...
And the moonroof: okay, here in Hawaii no one except a tourist would actually want all that sunshine pouring into the vehicle in the middle of an 80s or 90s degree day. What do you think all that heavy tinting is for anyway? The moon, now, that's a different story. It might be nice to have moonlight flowing into the car at night... or not... eh -
So here I sit, dwelling lovingly on the wonderful attributes of my brand-new automobile, peacefully sitting in my overcrowded garage gathering invisible dust on its beautifully camouflaged coat of desert sandiness...
So why did I want a new vehicle again? Who, me? excited about big-ticket items? No way --
If you click on the title of this post, you will be taken to a picture of the latest member of my little family. if you hold your mouse over the far right selection, "Desert Sand Mica with Taupe Interior," you will see Sandy Sienna in all her glory. Yes, I do like to name my vehicles, though this is the first one to receive a female name.
Yesterday was delivery day when I was finally able to pick up my new baby. She has running boards on each side to assist my aged father as he attempts to step into the vehicle. After all, if it were not for him, I do not think that I would have chosen such a car. Certainly no one who knows me would have guessed that I would select such a vehicle, including me. Ah well... It holds both wheelchair and walker easily while still leaving ample room for other things, which is the primary point, after all. Better yet, there is a functional radio that I can set low enough so that Dad cannot hear it, though I can. Best of all, there is an mp3 player plug for my ipod. :-)
When I popped open my cell phone to share my delight in my new acquisition, I was laughingly reminded that I delight in big ticket items, parsimonious though I may sometimes seem in smaller things. Well, with my fading eyesight, if I can't see it, what's the point? Of course, I suppose I could settle for less digits and decimal places... Hm...
Of course, now that that is settled and the old cars are moving on to other homes and incarnations, I have nowhere to drive my beautiful new toy until Dad's next doctors' appointments. See, that's why I was able to demonstrate restraint and not sign up for the optional moon roof or dvd player. After all, as a driver on Honolulu roads, when am I going to be on the road long enough to watch anything? And if I'm the sole driver, what would I be doing watching anyway? It's not like an audio input after all...
And the moonroof: okay, here in Hawaii no one except a tourist would actually want all that sunshine pouring into the vehicle in the middle of an 80s or 90s degree day. What do you think all that heavy tinting is for anyway? The moon, now, that's a different story. It might be nice to have moonlight flowing into the car at night... or not... eh -
So here I sit, dwelling lovingly on the wonderful attributes of my brand-new automobile, peacefully sitting in my overcrowded garage gathering invisible dust on its beautifully camouflaged coat of desert sandiness...
So why did I want a new vehicle again? Who, me? excited about big-ticket items? No way --
Monday, September 17, 2007
Still Mulling Over HP
The term "vol" is French for flight + de (down or away from) + mort = death, so the former French teacher named her arch villain flight from death, which makes perfect sense.
The question arose again today, how many horcruxes were there altogether? Reflex suggests seven or eight, depending on how one thinks. Logic dictates the following breakdown:
1 - diary
2 - ring
3 - locket
4 - cup
5 - tiara
6 - Nagini
These six were intentionally made by Tom Riddle, whose query asked about splitting one's soul into seven parts. Reasonably, he'd need to keep the seventh part within himself in order to hold it all together; otherwise, he'd be no better than those kissed by dementors (not that he was anyway).
Accidentally, Lord Voldemort, (who actually became LV by beginning his flight from death when he committed his first murder of Moaning Myrtle in the Girls' Bathroom over half a century earlier,) split his soul into an eighth part when he sadistically killed James and especially Lily Potter. Before he could kill the littlest Potter, he'd already turned the child into a seventh horcrux.
To sum up: seven horcruxes, eight pieces of soul. Unfortunately for ambitious Tom Riddle, he overshot his intended goal. One wonders if missing that lucky seven is what really caused him to crap out...
Who has Vegas on the brain?
The question arose again today, how many horcruxes were there altogether? Reflex suggests seven or eight, depending on how one thinks. Logic dictates the following breakdown:
1 - diary
2 - ring
3 - locket
4 - cup
5 - tiara
6 - Nagini
These six were intentionally made by Tom Riddle, whose query asked about splitting one's soul into seven parts. Reasonably, he'd need to keep the seventh part within himself in order to hold it all together; otherwise, he'd be no better than those kissed by dementors (not that he was anyway).
Accidentally, Lord Voldemort, (who actually became LV by beginning his flight from death when he committed his first murder of Moaning Myrtle in the Girls' Bathroom over half a century earlier,) split his soul into an eighth part when he sadistically killed James and especially Lily Potter. Before he could kill the littlest Potter, he'd already turned the child into a seventh horcrux.
To sum up: seven horcruxes, eight pieces of soul. Unfortunately for ambitious Tom Riddle, he overshot his intended goal. One wonders if missing that lucky seven is what really caused him to crap out...
Who has Vegas on the brain?
Saturday, September 15, 2007
A Random Thought
RE: Harry Potter
One might wonder at Harry's willingness to give Tom Riddle so many opportunities to repent his evil ways when the latter is so clearly without remorse and, therefore, beyond redemption. If, however, one looks back to the beginning of the final volume as Harry is preparing to depart Privet Drive for the final time, one sees Harry come to the realization that his cousin Dudley, whom he has long believed to be beyond hope of humanity, has had a change of heart since that fateful night two summers ago in that dark alley bracketed by the dementors of Delores Umbridge. If Dudley, despite being the spawn of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, can experience such a change of heart and turnaround in personality, surely anyone has like potential. All that is required is a dementor-like experience to shake one out of one's complacency.
So what do you suppose would have served a like function for Tom Riddle, and how late in life might it have occurred and still been effective? When was it just too late for the love potion child, or is prenatal chemical interference just damage done too early?
One might wonder at Harry's willingness to give Tom Riddle so many opportunities to repent his evil ways when the latter is so clearly without remorse and, therefore, beyond redemption. If, however, one looks back to the beginning of the final volume as Harry is preparing to depart Privet Drive for the final time, one sees Harry come to the realization that his cousin Dudley, whom he has long believed to be beyond hope of humanity, has had a change of heart since that fateful night two summers ago in that dark alley bracketed by the dementors of Delores Umbridge. If Dudley, despite being the spawn of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, can experience such a change of heart and turnaround in personality, surely anyone has like potential. All that is required is a dementor-like experience to shake one out of one's complacency.
So what do you suppose would have served a like function for Tom Riddle, and how late in life might it have occurred and still been effective? When was it just too late for the love potion child, or is prenatal chemical interference just damage done too early?
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Liquid Sunshine
Liquid sunshine is a term used in Hawaii to describe the phenomenon of rain falling from a sunny sky. It's a refreshing if puzzling occurrence, leaving one to wonder where the requisite cloud is or was. Yesterday I experienced a different kind of rainfall.
It was a hot, sunny day, which is the norm here. It was, therefore, perfectly logical that I had taken refuge in a properly air-conditioned environment with windows for walls. As I looked out of Jack-in-the-Box, munching away on my daily dose of highly salted high caloric grinds, I noticed that there was a large pool of liquid forming under my car, and that the pool was being fed by a fast-flowing stream from what appeared to be the underside of my car. Now, the logical conclusion for most is that the condensation from my air-conditioner was relieving itself in natural fashion. The only problem with that theory is that the air-conditioner in my car gave out over a decade ago, (did I mention that my vehicle is of 1991 vintage?) and that it had not held any freon in years.
Fortunately, I have access to all sorts of roadside assistance. Soon enough, Dad and I were headed for an auto repair shop. Hours later I was explaining the absence of freon to yet another male in doubt as to my gender's auto I.Q. At least I and my auto were released gratis as we were sent on our way to yet another repair shop.
At the next shop I had the great good fortune to encounter a knowledgeable representative who kindly recommended I not throw good money after bad by submitting my antique to further diagnosis, which would requirement an automatic charge of exorbitant proportions, labor being what it is. He told me what I'd heard before: time for a newer model.
So it was that Dad and I limped home in our once proud but now humbled vehicle. It's been a great car, and I love driving around the island in it. In fact, that's exactly what I've done, which is probably why time and salt have taken their toll. Ah well...
Money, like water and other auto fluids, flows on, rain or shine.
It was a hot, sunny day, which is the norm here. It was, therefore, perfectly logical that I had taken refuge in a properly air-conditioned environment with windows for walls. As I looked out of Jack-in-the-Box, munching away on my daily dose of highly salted high caloric grinds, I noticed that there was a large pool of liquid forming under my car, and that the pool was being fed by a fast-flowing stream from what appeared to be the underside of my car. Now, the logical conclusion for most is that the condensation from my air-conditioner was relieving itself in natural fashion. The only problem with that theory is that the air-conditioner in my car gave out over a decade ago, (did I mention that my vehicle is of 1991 vintage?) and that it had not held any freon in years.
Fortunately, I have access to all sorts of roadside assistance. Soon enough, Dad and I were headed for an auto repair shop. Hours later I was explaining the absence of freon to yet another male in doubt as to my gender's auto I.Q. At least I and my auto were released gratis as we were sent on our way to yet another repair shop.
At the next shop I had the great good fortune to encounter a knowledgeable representative who kindly recommended I not throw good money after bad by submitting my antique to further diagnosis, which would requirement an automatic charge of exorbitant proportions, labor being what it is. He told me what I'd heard before: time for a newer model.
So it was that Dad and I limped home in our once proud but now humbled vehicle. It's been a great car, and I love driving around the island in it. In fact, that's exactly what I've done, which is probably why time and salt have taken their toll. Ah well...
Money, like water and other auto fluids, flows on, rain or shine.
Monday, September 03, 2007
This Day
Today is Labor Day here in the United States, and in truly American fashion, we honor those who daily labor by the sweat of their brows, the aches in their backs (and other body parts), and deftness of their hands by desisting from such pursuits in favor of more recreational pursuits, or so the theory goes.
In recent years retailers have chosen to use this day as yet another opportunity to pursue filthy lucre. It's time for one of the biggest car sales of the year, a golden opportunity for buyers to purchase this year's models at the lowest prices they are likely to see before said vehicles are declared "used". It's also an opportunity for dealers to showcase next year's models, (though if they're available now, how can they be new next year?) Of course, the dealers are trying to clear inventory before the bulk of next year's models arrive, before they truly have reached their year-end sales and it becomes a buyer's market rather than a seller's.
The same holds true for other commercial markets. Clothing stores attempt to clear their racks of summer attire as they begin to stock up on autumn and winter wear. (No sense delaying the latter, as fall will have fallen if one will but blink, I think.) Even supermarkets are eager to unload fast-ripening fruits and vegetables (read that "rotting") under the guise of offering Labor Day picnic supplies.
Curiously, software and hardware dealers have jumped on this unloading bandwagon preparatory to restocking for the winter season. Perhaps everyone is sharing truck space as the giant trucks wheel across America safely and efficiently ahead of potential road closures or at least slowdowns in the coming months.
As a consumer, I welcome sales, though I hate bottom of the barrel merchandise. Perhaps I need to reconsider my perspective, as the bottom of the barrel still has more substance than the barrel-less...
So on this day in which we honor those who labor by desisting from lucrative labor in favor of avocational labor (yardwork, gardening, housecleaning, cooking, mending, pre-winter preparations,) and look with anticipation to enjoying family and friends over cookouts with relish, I rejoice in the simplest of pleasures: sleeping in and having this opportunity to blather as I ramble through my disjointed thoughts.
In recent years retailers have chosen to use this day as yet another opportunity to pursue filthy lucre. It's time for one of the biggest car sales of the year, a golden opportunity for buyers to purchase this year's models at the lowest prices they are likely to see before said vehicles are declared "used". It's also an opportunity for dealers to showcase next year's models, (though if they're available now, how can they be new next year?) Of course, the dealers are trying to clear inventory before the bulk of next year's models arrive, before they truly have reached their year-end sales and it becomes a buyer's market rather than a seller's.
The same holds true for other commercial markets. Clothing stores attempt to clear their racks of summer attire as they begin to stock up on autumn and winter wear. (No sense delaying the latter, as fall will have fallen if one will but blink, I think.) Even supermarkets are eager to unload fast-ripening fruits and vegetables (read that "rotting") under the guise of offering Labor Day picnic supplies.
Curiously, software and hardware dealers have jumped on this unloading bandwagon preparatory to restocking for the winter season. Perhaps everyone is sharing truck space as the giant trucks wheel across America safely and efficiently ahead of potential road closures or at least slowdowns in the coming months.
As a consumer, I welcome sales, though I hate bottom of the barrel merchandise. Perhaps I need to reconsider my perspective, as the bottom of the barrel still has more substance than the barrel-less...
So on this day in which we honor those who labor by desisting from lucrative labor in favor of avocational labor (yardwork, gardening, housecleaning, cooking, mending, pre-winter preparations,) and look with anticipation to enjoying family and friends over cookouts with relish, I rejoice in the simplest of pleasures: sleeping in and having this opportunity to blather as I ramble through my disjointed thoughts.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Bright Light Bright Light
It's been blazing bright and smoking hot here for what seems like forever. In fact, it's so bright that I can't make anything out through the haziness hanging like a veil over everything. That's its own kind of fogginess, I guess... It's actually cooler with the west-facing front door shut in the afternoons, despite the significant decrease in oxygen flow. Ah well...
My "N" has decided to go on walkabout. I didn't even know I had an Australian keyboard. Ah well...
Finally finished the Deathly Hallows "quiz" I'd so eagerly volunteered to write back in July. I'd desperately wanted to finish before August did, but some things are just not meant to be. So the thirty questions somehow became 210 - brevity is not my long suit. Ah well...
My mind is turning to mush; can you tell? This really is just blather. I'd rather be talking about Harry Potter...
I'd been perusing the book, looking for grist for my million question quiz, when I noticed Dumbledore's comment that he'd actually been counting on Hermione to slow Harry down. I confess that thought bothered me, as it seems to me that Hermione is the one who kept Harry moving every time he bogged down. Am I off-base with that thought?
Then there's Ginny. I have been waiting for her to present herself as an awesome witch capable of taking on the world, a true kindred spirit to Lily Evans and thus a fit mate for Harry. Instead, I find that she is a lovestruck girl willing to wait for her boy to become a man, as is the ever so talented Hermione. Everything these young women do seems intended to further their men's ambitions. What's up with that?
I really don't understand Hermione, aside from so many of us expecting her to wind up with Ron in the end. He's a worthless sod if ever there was one: callow, shallow, slow on the uptake, manipulative and exploitative when it comes to his relationships with females. It must be in the nonverbals. After all, I adore Rupert Grint, who evidently "gets" Ronald Weasley, but the way the character is written, I'd shoot him as soon as look at him. Hm... too American? Ah well...
Speaking of American, am I alone in thinking that Rowling wrote a classic Western showdown at sunrise (instead of sunup, cuz the symbolism just works so much better that way...)? There's Harry, mysteriously reappearing after having been taken for dead, jawing away while the sun rises. There's a flurry of motion, a loud bang, and the villain is dead. The crowd goes wild! Yep, every Saturday matinee, every Western, every Star Wars episode - all right there on the same page. Is it my imagination? I think not.
(Hm... does that mean that I disagree or that I truly am not thinking? Hm... mushbrain, indeed...)
Y'know, I'd missed the part where LV got KO'd by the first A-K he tossed at Harry back in the Forbidden Forest en route to Harry's version of King's Cross Station. I'd wondered what Bellatrix was doing cooing over him... yeah, that was strange without the understanding that the dude had hit the dirt, if ever so briefly... Talk about slow learners!
Yep, definitely rambling today.
Say hey, why don'tcha?
My "N" has decided to go on walkabout. I didn't even know I had an Australian keyboard. Ah well...
Finally finished the Deathly Hallows "quiz" I'd so eagerly volunteered to write back in July. I'd desperately wanted to finish before August did, but some things are just not meant to be. So the thirty questions somehow became 210 - brevity is not my long suit. Ah well...
My mind is turning to mush; can you tell? This really is just blather. I'd rather be talking about Harry Potter...
I'd been perusing the book, looking for grist for my million question quiz, when I noticed Dumbledore's comment that he'd actually been counting on Hermione to slow Harry down. I confess that thought bothered me, as it seems to me that Hermione is the one who kept Harry moving every time he bogged down. Am I off-base with that thought?
Then there's Ginny. I have been waiting for her to present herself as an awesome witch capable of taking on the world, a true kindred spirit to Lily Evans and thus a fit mate for Harry. Instead, I find that she is a lovestruck girl willing to wait for her boy to become a man, as is the ever so talented Hermione. Everything these young women do seems intended to further their men's ambitions. What's up with that?
I really don't understand Hermione, aside from so many of us expecting her to wind up with Ron in the end. He's a worthless sod if ever there was one: callow, shallow, slow on the uptake, manipulative and exploitative when it comes to his relationships with females. It must be in the nonverbals. After all, I adore Rupert Grint, who evidently "gets" Ronald Weasley, but the way the character is written, I'd shoot him as soon as look at him. Hm... too American? Ah well...
Speaking of American, am I alone in thinking that Rowling wrote a classic Western showdown at sunrise (instead of sunup, cuz the symbolism just works so much better that way...)? There's Harry, mysteriously reappearing after having been taken for dead, jawing away while the sun rises. There's a flurry of motion, a loud bang, and the villain is dead. The crowd goes wild! Yep, every Saturday matinee, every Western, every Star Wars episode - all right there on the same page. Is it my imagination? I think not.
(Hm... does that mean that I disagree or that I truly am not thinking? Hm... mushbrain, indeed...)
Y'know, I'd missed the part where LV got KO'd by the first A-K he tossed at Harry back in the Forbidden Forest en route to Harry's version of King's Cross Station. I'd wondered what Bellatrix was doing cooing over him... yeah, that was strange without the understanding that the dude had hit the dirt, if ever so briefly... Talk about slow learners!
Yep, definitely rambling today.
Say hey, why don'tcha?
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